Death's Head
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: They said that imitation was the greatest form of flattery. Seeing other people wearing his armour, Raynor had to disagree.


**Death's Head**

"This isn't funny Matt."

"It's a little funny sir."

Raynor gestured at the image on the flatscreen. "Does that look funny to you?"

Matt looked at it – it showed a still-image of a battlefield on Vardona. Raynor's Raiders in combat with the Mobius Corps. Like all such images of war he'd seen, from the Guild Wars to the conflict that had engulfed the entire sector, he didn't see anything funny about it. Death. Destruction. Power-armoured men and women firing at each other on the ground, fires consuming the building, and blurred shapes of aerospace craft moving in the range of hundreds of miles per hour in the skies above.

"Doesn't really look funny to me," Matt murmured.

"See, right?"

"But the whole skull thing? Really don't see the issue there."

"And the armour," Raynor said. He got to his feet. "Skulls, I can live with. Black instead of blue? I can live with. But this? This is…plagiarism."

"Didn't think you had a copyright on your hardskin sir."

Raynor glared at Matt.

"Sorry." He couldn't help but smile. "But, y'know…it's kinda funny."

The glare turned into a scowl, but the smile remained.

The image by itself was horrible. Humans had commemorated war in one way or another for thousands of years. In all the pieces of art Matt had seen, from the K-sector to what had survived the Long Sleep from Earth, he could guess that the image on the flatscreen would never make it among the greats. But it wasn't so much the image itself that was bothering Raynor (unless he'd completely misread his former commander), it was what was in part of it. Raynor's Raiders marines – not odd in of itself, they were doing the job they were paid to do. What _had _caught Raynor's attention sufficiently to bring it to Matt's attention (and by bring it to his attention, it was more "follow me, want to show you something"), was that the Raiders marines in the image were wearing black armour with death's heads carved into their visors. Basically the style of armour that James "Jim" Raynor had used for years, from Confederate marine, to Sons of Korhal rebel, to rebel leader himself.

Raynor, for his part, collapsed into a chair and took a sip from the beer that was lying on the table between the two of them. He looked exhausted, and considering what was going on all over the sector, Matt couldn't blame him.

"Really don't need this," Raynor murmured, putting the beer can down. "We've got zerg, protoss, and terrans doing us a number, and I've members of the Raiders nicking my armour."

"Imitating sir. Last I checked your suit was still stored on the _Hyperion_."

The scowl returned. "Didn't think there was enough hair on your head to split it Matt, was I wrong?"

"No sir. Unlike yourself, I keep mine at regulation length."

Raynor snorted and brushed some of his hair aside.

"But think about it this way, that imitation's the most sincere form of flattery. Those men and women…" Matt gestured to the still image. "They followed you under Mengsk, then they followed you against Mengsk."

"Following a different Mengsk now. Not sure how that's working out."

"Better than if Arcturus was still around," Matt said. "But that's beside the point. Point is, they're still Raynor's Raiders, and they're still part of the unit, and they're still wearing your colours." He gestured to one of the marines, baring the Raiders insignia of the three white daggers. "And I mean, right now, most of our time is spent as commanders, right? When was the last time you took to the field?"

"Last week on Braxis," Raynor said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Protoss fanatics fighting for their god or whatever – wiped them out." He took a sip of his beer. "Still fekking cold down there, thanks for asking."

"Guess I wouldn't know sir. I mean, it's cold in space, but…y'know…"

Raynor smirked. "I know you're working with Mira Han."

"That…I don't…"

"Hey, not complaining. We need everyone in this dog fight. Besides, figure having Mira around will make space a bit less cold and-"

"_Okay_," said Matt, getting a bit warm himself. "That's all nice and such, but can we get back to bitching about Raiders stealing your suit?"

Raynor shrugged before leaning back in his chair. "Guess we could."

"Could? Or will?"

Raynor said nothing.

"Sir, I…" Matt leant forward, putting his hands together. "Come on Jim. What's really up? Know you've had your suit longer than we've known each other, but it ain't just that is it?" He watched Raynor get to his feet and rub his forehead. "What's really up?"

Raynor said nothing – not at first at least. Instead, he turned and looked up at the screen – not just at the Raiders who'd appropriated his suit's colour scheme, the whole shebang.

"It's weird," Raynor said eventually. "Seeing yourself in one perfect moment."

"Sir?"

Raynor looked back at Matt, and in his former commander's eyes, he could see no anger, no mirth, just weariness. "The Death's Head," he said, gesturing in the vague direction of the marines. "That's what it's called y'know. Whole death's coming for you, death's shooting at you, death's going to get you."

"I…guess? But-"

"Simpler times," Raynor said, sitting back down at the table and sipping more of the beer. "Guild Wars, man against man and all that – world wasn't going to end, no matter whether the Confederates or Kel-Morians won."

"But times got more complicated?"

"Yeah. Zerg. Protoss. UED." Raynor sighed. "Never stopped wearing the suit y'know. Zerg could die. Protoss could die. UED Earthers could die. But now…" He sighed. "Everything I just mentioned there was a point to it. Earth wants the K-sector. Zerg want to eat us. Protoss want us dead so the zerg don't eat us. Confederates want power, Kel-Morians want power, Arcturus Mengsk sure as hell wants power." He sipped more of the beer and pushed the can aside. "And hey, I get it – power's a means to an end. But…" He gestured back at the image, this time his hand moving towards the Moebius Corps. "What the fekk do they want Matt? Whatever force is driving them, what does it want?"

Matt shrugged. "We've got theories."

"Theories, theories." He grunted. "Death's Head. Guess I don't like seeing it on my own men because…"

"Because death's coming for us all?"

Raynor said nothing, but the look in his eyes told Matt that he'd found the truth. The splinter in his mind that was making his tongue dance to the devil's tune.

"So what now?" Matt asked. "Do we find the squad who appropriated your suit?"

"No." Raynor got to his feet. "Now, we get our assignments, find new battlefields, and hope that somehow, some way, we survive all of this."

"Here's to that sir." Matt got up as well and extended his hand. "Here's to that."

After a moment's hesitation, Raynor shook it.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, yes, this is what comes from seeing the leaked Raynor's Raiders skins for _StarCraft II_, specifically the marine one._


End file.
